


Neither Here nor There — But Where, Darling

by HQ_Wingster



Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Bonding, Caring Harry Potter, Catharsis, Character Study, Cold Weather, Domestic, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Fluffy Ending, Gentleness, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Light-Hearted, M/M, Married Couple, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Prose Poem, Relationship Study, Romantic Gestures, Sane Tom Riddle, Senses, Sensuality, Sharing Body Heat, Sleepiness, Sleeping Together, Stolen Moments, Stress Relief, Teasing, Touching, Touchy-Feely, Trust, Unresolved Tension, Vulnerability, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Whimsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Being aParselmouthin winter was the closest thing to Hell. Because instinctually, he should be hibernating. But as a human, he could not. So to contend with that matter, both sides of him had to compromise. Meaning that heat and its prevalence and its consistency in his environment were the very things he needed to tame the animal inside of him, and it couldn’t come from magic or any man-made appliance because the snake inside of him—he knew it didn’t like it.As the nights are growing colder and as he’s restless as a result, there is comfort to be found near the fireplace and in Harry’s arms.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100486
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68
Collections: Read





	Neither Here nor There — But Where, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic of 2021 and I’m starting off strong with introspection. I have a love for cuddle fics, but I rarely write about what leads up to them. So this is me doing that and it was quite something while I was writing. Originally meant for this to be my final fic for 2020, but that gradually didn’t happen because of how long the story had become.
> 
> GENERAL THOUGHTS → I believe a few days ago, I was reading a Riddle/Potter fanfic and I was introduced to this concept where _Parselmouths_ inherit or exhibit snake-like qualities and I thought that was really cool and very unique as well. I really wanted to play with that and lo and behold, I did it here. Considering my lack of experience writing for this pairing and from Tom’s POV in particular, that left me an entire playground of wiggle room to roll around in.
> 
> And since Tom is quite similar to some characters I’ve written from another fandom, I took my experiences and approaches from there and used that as my foundation as I was working through this. So I made him sassy and a bit dorky and hopefully, human in the process. Over time as I gain more experience, I’ll iron out exactly how I’d like to portray his voice. Until then, you have this and I hope you enjoy!

In three words, he could sum what had led up to this moment:  _ he was cold, he couldn’t sleep and frankly, he had enough.  _ Every fibre of his being scooted closer towards the fire and as he did so, he was smirking and Tom could hear another’s voice  _ —  _ poking lightly with a weariness because he didn’t keep to his word.

In fact, he used twelve or you could argue that it was eleven, but what you couldn’t argue was that he had used more than he said he would. And no matter which way you sliced it, you couldn’t swindle this beyond the truth. But were these comments from anyone else, Tom could sway them if he wanted to. If the matter of three and if the matter of word were of anything important; but of course, they weren’t. As he would glance at his nails and pretend as he would, lifting brightly  _ —  _ a gaze, persuading others to fold  _ —  _ while warbling from his lips would be a charm for anyone else who had yet to change their tune before he smiled back at them. And with nothing more than a  _ ‘thanks’  _ and a favor newly made, he’d be off and would know that there was nothing in his way. Or at least, one less thing that could smidge upon his day were he at the heart of the Ministry or anywhere farther from his den. 

But because it was night and the eve to a new year, because the voice he had heard was not a stranger to his ears, and because he was basking and rather soft in the darkness while he settled behind the fire and eased lightly upon a hip, Tom conceded to the judge and to the emeralds of their glance and to the truth  _ —  _ now tickling and wandering like a hand, digging sweetly with a fondness that made him yearn it were real. Just so he could do this, so he could fold back and feel vulnerable: like how a snake would often sprawl and lounge about beneath a log, shedding every inch to feel alive beyond its walls, and to remember how it felt to be protected by something else, by something far greater than the sums of one’s self. And while he’d never admit this and neither would he out loud, some part of him already did when Tom thought of the emerald judge and of the quiet bit of laughter he would’ve heard if he were next to him. Sort of husky at the outskirts while softer near the middle as it rolled from a man born from summer and cinnamon.

And if he allowed himself that, then he could allow himself this: a brief flicker from his tongue as he mused upon the man. Tom could taste every stir and the rustling from his partner, as a dream of some sort held him a breath away from fervor. And it wasn’t hard when the bedroom was merely a floor away, and it was easier since he knew Harry as the air he was breathing in. Where if robbed of all his senses, he’d still know him just like this. Where if near, he would quicken; where if far, he would not. With a flick, he could even tell if the man had woken up. If he had sensed the lack of body and the lack of anything by his side, if he was afraid or curious as he nuzzled over to find Tom, and if he was standing or sitting or about to roll out from bed to solve the mystery of the disappearance behind his husband and close friend.

Okay, the last part was a lie. No scent could tell him that and even if there was one, no snake could discern that. And Tom would know since he was one  _ —  _ a spoken one at that, a tongue for theirs gave him the affinities that were common in such reptiles. And although few and ill-defined and nowhere honed to the originals’, his sense of smell or his taste for it was as sharp as he was fine. As so, he could nibble at the tendrils of Harry’s scent all around him: how it mixed with the burning and with the age of this abode.

He could taste what he experienced and who had bumped him throughout the day; he could catch the faintest traces of every emotion he carried today  _ — joy _ from mid-day, from meeting his godson during his lunch break,  _ admiration  _ towards his friends, towards a piece of legislation that couldn’t pass without them,  _ boredom  _ at his paperwork, at the dilly dallies of the Wizengamot, and amongst a flutter of other feelings Tom could discern through his tongue, what stood out for its sweetness was the  _ delight  _ when he came home, when he waved away at his robes and traded the plumage for something casual, when Harry tried and failed at sneaking up from behind him, when he poked and rattled and grinned at Tom with such fondness that it stirred the very air and his husband caught a taste of it; and speaking of that taste, he could discern an English muffin and that its partner in coffee were loitering in the living room, followed by the Vietnamese and the Thai dishes Harry had with Teddy before then, closing with a meal Harry had prepared for that evening. But perhaps that last part was from the kitchen and  _ not  _ from his man when Tom tilted his head slightly and glanced back to peer at it. And when he flicked his tongue away and settled back into his human senses, there was nothing more prevailing than the char from the fireplace.

With a huff as he turned, he cozied nearer to the flames  _ —  _ peeling back every sleeve so that the heat could lick at him, so it could gnaw at his bones and please the snake inside of him, which had coiled to the surface and made him flick out of nature. Following then were his knees and they buckled beside him until he lowered and they sprawled and he was stiff against his hip. Sort of like a python when it lounged above the canopies of a rainforest, soaking every stream it could milk from the sunlight. Content enough to remain as long as it felt safe, as long as it was warm with wherever it had strayed, even when the man within him was aching from the position, from the place, from the posture he was currently holding. It only exasperated how tired and how he yearned to return to bed, how being a  _ Parselmouth  _ in winter was the closest thing to Hell.

Because instinctually, he should be hibernating. But as a human, he could not. So to contend with that matter, both sides of him had to compromise. Meaning that heat and its prevalence and its consistency in his environment were the very things he needed to tame the animal inside of him, and it couldn’t come from magic or any man-made appliance because the snake inside of him  _ —  _ he knew it didn’t like it.

It wanted fire, it wanted the sun, it wanted a stone-baked from summer, it wanted a den beneath the earth, or simply a place untouched by winter. And that want became a need before it turned into a frenzy, leaving him restless and at the mercy of an itch within his being. Where even sleeping beside a furnace named Harry couldn’t scratch it and if he didn’t leave when he did, he was sure he would’ve strangled him. Because the reptile within him would’ve willed it to survive, even if he fought against it and would’ve done anything for him not to die. And so in a long and pittering way, more than the three words he could say, this was why he was here and why he looked worse for wear. What with the bags beneath his eyes and the fissures along his frown as he clenched at his teeth and willed himself to warm-up.

Drawing nearer to the fire until he was almost touching it: the snake inside him wanted to move, the man within him didn’t want to. Not when his fingers were nearly burned when a crown of flames erupted, trying to chase after his nails when Tom withdrew from the fireplace. But as soon as he did and as soon as he calmed, a part of him lunged back and nearly fell into the coals.

He was trembling all the while as two instincts were at play: both ambitious in their efforts and their attempts to wield him well. Where the snake was bound to strike, as it unraveled from its vice, while the human stood his ground, unperturbed with what he found. As rising and sizing and fanning out its hood, as hissing beneath the thunder sounding off in its blood, was an instinct that no person nor living creature could bend. It was a miracle that somehow, he was still human in spite of it. That he hadn’t and that he wouldn’t be reduced to a set of urges: for just the thought of it occurring was enough to curl his lips and so, he mustered what he had to tame the beast from within  _ —  _ forever thankful in his own way as the serpent was wearing thin.

Because the blood of a Riddle was ever present in his veins and although he hated it, it was the one thing that kept him sane. Since childhood, in the orphanage when he used to pick at his urges; since the moment he knew his calling and became a fine adolescent, where in Hogwarts he would grow rather incensed by his instincts; and since adulthood and to even now  _ —  _ after he refined his magic  _ —  _ every drop from his father was the reason why he hadn’t consumed himself. It was the reason why his humanity could still fight the beast within him. It was enough and just enough to keep him from falling, from sliding down a precipice that had made a home within his being, where the bottom was a mystery and his other lineage had yet to find it.

Breathing shallowly in the darkness, he hoped for himself that he’d never come near it. That this blood and his blood and that his magic would keep him from it, that they would forever be his lifeline to tame the monster into being human. For being human was what he was  _ —  _ although there were parts of him that were distinctly not. Like his taste, like his urges, like his smell, like his senses  _ —  _ he knew Harry had found him because he felt it from the vibrations. Rattling from the floorboards and from the stirrings within the air, he flicked his tongue and eased about before he drew away from the fireplace.

There were parts of him he couldn’t move because of his soreness and how cold he was. But as Harry knelt beside him and trailed a blanket as he did, Tom could feel that the parts of him that weren’t human began to feel so. And it began at his fingers before it sprawled up his arm, snaking partly beyond his shoulder before unraveling down his torso. And perhaps, his other half was slowly catching up when Harry swaddled him loosely beneath his warmth and a hug. Ever-careful with that gesture, aware of Tom and the way he was whenever the snake part of him had woken up and stirred trouble. It would leave the taller feeling antsy and even clammy with where he was, and letting him know that he had a way out was what made him better through the thick of it all.

So in that and with that and in the silence of that, Harry remained here and was as heavy as a snowflake upon Tom. Merely breathing and listening and caressing him like a treasure, as if Harry was just the air enveloping all around him. And upon hearing a few hisses, that was when he looked at Tom: he was murmuring a bit of something that Harry didn’t know; but from the looks of it, it could’ve been  _ ‘thank you’  _ or his name. Because of the redness in his eyes, not from anger or mischief, but from the bottoms of his heart and it was the closest thing to innocence. In that it was kind and honest and undoubtedly human: a beautiful wonder as Harry traced it with both his gaze and his fondness. As a few of his fingers had begun to wander and they were near it as he parted a few curls from his husband.

“You don’t have to be that gentle,” Tom murmured with a nuzzle, briefly leaning into the touch and melting against his knuckles. 

“Oh, I do,” Harry said. There was a smile in his tone and it grew warmer as he held him, as he curled into his arms. “Because I want to.”

“You’re lying.” But there was no bite to that comment. Merely a tease that only Tom would find it in him that it was funny, and only a glance back at Harry seemed to note him that it wasn’t.

Because of the scowl on his face, not on his lips but upon his brows, as he was squinting at his husband and was bathed behind the firelight. But perhaps, this was nothing but an ordinary expression since Harry couldn’t see very well without his glasses. And so the card could be played and Tom could choose to ignore this, but experience bid him well and he knew he shouldn't do it. Unless he wanted to be hexed and tortured with tickles. Which would’ve been quite a sight; but as of now, not at this moment. 

Not while Harry and his eyes and while this gravity was sprawled about them: lacing them with an intimacy that Tom would surely drown in. If only Harry would topple, too, and would join him beneath the precipice. Which he might if he swayed him and it’d be so easy in fact because the latter was thinking one thing while Tom was thinking of something else. Harry was still in the conversation while Tom could veer it into the unknown, and he felt tempted to do so when the scowl softened for only him.

_ “Harry.”  _ His gaze soon flickered towards the fireplace and if he wanted to, he could flick to gauge how Harry was feeling.  _ ‘But not yet,’  _ he told himself as the rest of him began to wander, inching closer to bridge the gaps between him and his partner.

“But first, hear me out. I know you’re going to listen  _ —  _ ” Was he veering the conversation because he knew Tom would do it first, afraid of what route could lead them both into trouble since the Court had a trial set for early in the morning and because Harry wasn’t sure if he would make it without an incident, or was he continuing the conversation on whether to be gentle or not when it came to loving the Slytherin, whom he had given his heart?

Because honestly: when you looked at Tom, you could tell he wasn’t listening. That he had checked out some time ago before he glanced away from Harry. And that instead of urges or the instincts of his body, he was at the mercy of ministrations when Harry met upon the moment: as he caressed and kissed him lightly upon his forehead and then trailed those lovely marks towards his lips and his neck, as he held and squeezed him as if they were lost within winter and not behind the roaring fire crackling in front of them, and as he touched and amused him until he hopefully forgot the very reason why he rose and had woken up at this hour. Before Harry fell deeper and sunk into his shoulder, wordlessly charming for the blanket to hold them closer.

And he was squinting as before, but there were no scowls for Tom to trace. All he could find was love and it shone brightly in the darkness and because he knew he was human, too, Tom wasn’t afraid to look at him. He wasn’t afraid to be blinded by this diamond  _ —  _ his shooting star  _ —  _ and just the sight of his partner could warm him without a doubt, beyond what the sun could dare manage when it was out. It took a moment for him to process the words that left Harry’s mouth.

“I came across something interesting while I was in the archives the other day.” Spoken like the weather, but it was tugging at Tom’s heart. He  _ hmmm _ -ed beneath his breath and licked his lips before he started. 

“What a miracle, you were reading.”

With a murmur. “Shut up, love.”

But just as well, you could say that Harry encouraged his behavior because the more he heard Tom, the brighter his face was and that was directly correlated to the amusement from his husband. As Tom prodded and curled at the holes in his narrative, seemingly knowing what he was about to say as if Harry was as open as a diary on display. And probably, he was and would only for this man as he resisted every urge to tickle Tom when he interrupted.

“I’m serious. Stop it.” Harry wiggled his fingers and he knew that his husband had caught on to his threat. But if he thought it would stop the other man and his teasing, he was in for a reckoning as Tom mosied towards his neck. Mouthing into the flesh and nipping at his skin, he quietly recited what had stumbled from Harry’s lips. “I think you’ll find this really fascinating.”

“Then say it, I’m all ears.” He caught the stirs of every emotion threatening to burst from his partner: both from taste and from touch as he eyed at Harry’s pulse and it fluttered beside his cheek, like a fledgling all alone. And part of him found it funny while the rest was endeared when Harry played with a few words before he trusted his own voice. It was quite similar to what he would do before speaking while in Court, letting out all his stumbles before he proceeded with his thoughts.

But be it as it may: he still fumbled because of Tom; but at least, his train of thought had left the station at some point. Even if it was hitched and far breathier than he meant, even if he had rambled and it was all in a single breath.

“I found some records of other  _ Parselmouths  _ and how they weathered through all their winters.” He didn’t dare to glance down since his husband would be staring back and because of these inches narrowing in between them, it would’ve been so easy for him to lose what he thought next.

And that was dangerous — oh so dangerous — with a serpent right beside him: as Tom nestled into his body and fed sweetly from his warmth, and he was doing so with a casualness that was soon betrayed by his fingers. As they wandered, as they strayed, as they teased to somewhere else and Harry knew that he couldn’t wander or allow himself to think much of it. Because if he did, he’d be gone and that was exactly what Tom had wanted. For at some point, his loving husband had become a snake or had imitated one as he curled into Harry and found purchase along his neck. Where he’d squeeze ever-lightly with both his cheek and his senses, and you couldn’t tell him or even convince him that Tom hadn’t done this on purpose.

But if he pretended that he didn’t, that made it easier to find his voice. As Harry crooked a bit away until there was air in between them, far enough where his whisper could be swallowed up by their fireplace. “I think I found something,” he spoke deliberately at Tom’s neck before the courage of his House steered Harry towards his gaze. And reflected was just himself because his husband had eyes for him — for him and for only him as the clocks struck midnight. “Something useful to you, maybe.”

Neither turning nor flinching as he was licking his own lips, he heard a hiss in response. But it could’ve been from the fire. “Obviously,” he trailed, “You’re not going to take leave, and I doubt that the Ministry will even grant you one for a season.”

“Is that an observation, or is it just fluff —  _ darling?” _

“Neither,” Harry paused.

After a moment, he repealed it.

Nearly drawing his eyes away, he simply whispered this into the darkness. “Does it matter?”

He was blushing and it was cute and he was warmer at this moment. Tom relented to one of his urges and sunk faintly into him, lightly flicking his own tongue and catching a few of Harry’s emotions. Just enough to have him wobble, to have him vulnerable while beside him.

“Tell me. If you dare.” There was fondness in how he said it, as if he were talking about the weather and hoping that it would rain so that he could share his own umbrella and escort Harry before he got wet. And if the umbrella was too small, he’d get wet in place of him while they dashed down the streets of Muggle London to Islington. Before they arrived at the stair steps and fumbled messily into their home: trekking water, trekking air, trekking each other without a care as the colder of the two was feeling fire from his partner. As a lazy drop of water broke the idle right out from them.

“Well, it  _ does  _ and you know it and I’m  _ not  _ elaborating.” Crossing both his arms, he would’ve looked imposing if only Harry hadn’t smiled or had inched towards Tom. Because when he did, he chuckled and then it broke into breathless laughter as he tried to wiggle from the blanket while Tom lured him back. He tried to hide all the spots of him that were ticklish to another’s hands, but this was Tom he was hiding from and the man was brimmed with utter mischief. 

“Suit yourself.” Tom continued, but he was merciful in the firelight.

When breathing grew difficult, when Harry’s voice had given out and before he lost himself to the hitches as his husband was on top of him, Tom withdrew every finger and held them idle by his side. He pressed them softly into the carpet and asked Harry if he was alright. And he couldn’t but slide into an easy grin as Harry recovered: as he propped himself up and had eased onto his elbows, rising slowly and with some help for his husband was a gentleman. For clasped around his wrist and as gentle as he could’ve been, Tom soon thumbed for forgiveness as he stroked the back of Harry’s hand. And he received it from a look that Harry had for only him, it was the kind of look that made him feel stronger than he had ever been. Because he wasn’t here alone, he had Harry here with him.

“It doesn’t matter to me whether it’s here or there,” he was referring to their bed as he cradled Tom into his hands. “But I’d like to wake up and find you asleep next to me.”  _ ‘Rested, well: every part of you if that could happen,’  _ were left unspoken at the moment when Harry conveyed this with his hands.

There was a reason why he brought a blanket before he wandered to the fireplace, hoping to catch some sleep and knowing that Tom would find his here. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)
> 
> POST-WRITING THOUGHTS → If you’re reading this author’s note, I’m assuming you’ve finished this story. If so, I think it’s best for me to confess that I completely pantsed this entire story. Because in actuality, I was meant to write a slow dancing fic for tomarry. However, when I wrote the opening lines for this fanfic, the story took off with a life of its own and I scraped the slow dancing plot in lieu for the character study you’ve read above. Other than a slight direction of where I wanted to go, I pretty much discovered the story as I went along and with each revision and edit, I could see it taking shape and what I wanted to get out of this became more and more clear.
> 
> It’s been like 10 years since I’ve last read the series so forgive me on my thoughts here, but I distinctly remember that the magical side of Tom’s family was afflicted with bouts of insanity. And that from what we know, this was caused and intensified by the generations of in-breeding. So because I was playing with the _Parselmouth_ angle and how there’s like two instincts living inside of him, that became the foundation for where I was going while I was writing.
> 
> With what little biology I know, I know that in-breeding increases the likelihood for certain traits and that it intensifies certain characteristics from offspring to offspring. Which I know I didn’t do an accurate portrayal for that since if it were more accurate, Tom would have more snakey characteristics and traits on his person. But this is me as a creative just hand-waving things because I’m pantsing as I go; however, what I lacked in the physical characteristics, I wanted to make it up through the psychological and in the animalistic instincts that flare up under certain conditions.
> 
> And as I’m juggling these things and this internal struggle, I wanted to take into account Riddle Sr.’s contribution to whatever this was. Because even though it’s “small” and it doesn’t overwrite a whole lot of things, that diversity and genetic variety is what helps Tom from losing himself to his animalistic urges. At least, that’s what I think from my limited biology knowledge and from me workshopping how I can integrate canon and tweak it to make sense for the story I have. We could go into a discussion about nature vs. nurture and I guess this fic does illustrate that argument in some ways: with how genetics seems to play a larger role for this story, but nurture isn’t too far off if I’m considering the nurture in Tom’s older life rather than while he was growing.
> 
> But that’s a lot to unravel in a fairly short story, but it’s something I’d love to play with and explore some more through future works. If you’re here, thank you for reading and for catching my rambly thoughts. I hope I made some sense and that you’re able to fill in the gaps between this and the story. Have a terrific New Year.


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